


Long is the Night

by Zoejoy24



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Beating, Drowning, Gen, Kidnapping, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24
Summary: Based on this prompt by malcolmwhumply on tumblr: angsty fic where Gil and Malcolm get kidnapped, Malcolm gets whumped and Gil can't do anything about it.
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610707
Comments: 49
Kudos: 270
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Long is the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Bad Things Happen Bingo Card fic and I’m super excited! Its a combination of a prompt from Tumblr and the "You Said You’d Let Them Go" square on my card.
> 
> I want to say a BIG thank you to [2amEuphoria ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2amEuphoria), [sonshineandshowers ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers), and whumpybliss for being fantastic betas!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” Malcolm asked as Gil pulled into the half-filled parking lot of an Italian restaurant.

He’d insisted on accompanying the older man to meet with a possible source with information about their current case. A woman had called their tip line, ensuring them that she had information and more importantly photographs that would allow them to put their suspects away for a very long time. But she’d insisted on meeting with Gil one-on-one, afraid of potential repercussions if it was discovered that she’d talked to the police. This case had been a difficult one involving two teenagers who’d been murdered, possibly as part of a gang initiation. Their suspects were smart, part of an organization that excelled at covering their tracks and keeping their hands clean, using thugs and proxies to do their dirty work. This woman’s photographs would provide them with the concrete evidence they needed to finally pin down the two men they had in police custody.

No one had been happy with the idea of Gil going alone, and Malcolm had finally persuaded Gil to take him along under two conditions: Malcolm would wait in the car until Gil met the woman and ensured that she would be okay with Malcolm joining them. JT had also stipulated that if he or Dani hadn’t heard from them within an hour of arriving at the restaurant, they’d be sending in the cavalry.

Gil drove past the restaurant once before pulling in, checking for anything that was immediately suspicious. From what he could see from the road nothing seemed off, and Gil pulled in on their next pass.

Gil turned to face Malcolm. “It’s going to be fine, Bright. There are too many people here for anyone to pull anything, and I don’t want to spook her. Let Dani and JT know we made it, wait for my text, and stay in the car.”

Malcolm opened his mouth, clearly wanting to argue, but he refrained. He slumped sullenly in the passenger seat like a child, and pulled out his phone to contact the others.

Gil made sure his badge and gun were both well hidden by shirt and coat before exiting the car. Despite the reassurance he’d left Malcolm with, his eyes scanned the surrounding area warily as he headed towards the entrance.

He knew he’d made a mistake as soon as he walked inside. There was no hostess, and the dining room was empty, save for three men sitting casually at a table, and two men who’d been waiting for him by the door, guns already drawn. They quickly divested him of his own side arm and cell phone without saying a word.

“What is this?” Gil asked, turning to look at each of them. His question received no response, only the force of heavy hands on his shoulders as they pushed him further into the building.

“Ah, Lieutenant Arroyo. So good of you to join us,” a deceptively smooth voice finally broke the silence as a tall, handsome, middle-aged man strode out of the kitchen.

Gil recognized him as a man only known as Santos, who the NYPD suspected had ties to their current case. the man who pulled the strings of a bigger operation whilst hiding in the background as charges slid off of him like water. 

“Santos, why am I not surprised?” Gil replied, his tone even, almost bored. “What’s your play here? I know you’re not stupid enough to kill a cop.”

“I just want to talk, Lieutenant,” Santos replied in a lightly accented voice, spreading his hands innocently.

Gil noticed that the thugs’ vice grip on his shoulders had disappeared, although the two men still closely flanked him.

“Why don’t you join me in the kitchen? It's a much more... intimate setting for a discussion such as this,” Santos suggested with an almost friendly smile.

Gil didn’t buy it for a second. He’d jailed two of Santos’ known associates and suspected that Santos had orchestrated this in a desperate attempt at ensuring their release.

The man on his left urged him forward with a sharp nudge, and Gil obliged. He had no doubt that Santos--or rather, one of Santos’ thugs--wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him if he tried anything. It was possible that this was just an attempt at intimidation, a power play for Santos, demonstrating how easily he could get at someone like a police lieutenant. All Gil had to do was keep this ‘conversation’ going for an hour, and then backup would arrive. 

Santos took a seat at a small table with two chairs which had been placed in an open corner of the kitchen, beckoning for Gil to join him. There were two glasses of what Gil guessed to be wine on the table and a decanter, sitting in ice.

“Come on, Santos, don’t waste my time with pleasantries. What do you want?”

Santos sat back comfortably, taking a sip of his wine.

“Are you always in such a rush, Lieutenant? Pity. But, you’re right, best to get down to business. I need a simple favor. I need you to, how would you say... lose some items related to this case you’re working on. Individually, they are nothing. But eventually, they’ll become something, and I need them gone before that happens.”

Gil scoffed. “You’re telling me we have the evidence we need to break this case already, and you want me to get rid of it? I don’t think so. Besides, it's not possible. I can’t just make evidence disappear.”

Santos sighed, full of dramatic disappointment. “Lieutenant, I’d really prefer to keep this conversation friendly. This doesn’t have to be difficult. Make a phone call, tell them whatever they want to hear, have these items brought here, and you go on your way. Nothing unsavory needs to happen.”

Gil stared at him hard. “And if I don’t? You’ll assault a police officer? Kill me? Like I said, you aren’t that stupid. So how about this, you let me go now, and I won’t send every officer at my disposal down to arrest you.”

Santos chuckled. “Arrest me for what, Lieutenant? I’ve done nothing wrong. Whatever these other men have done, well, that’s out of my control. According to the cameras here, you and I are just having a nice chat and no one has laid a finger on you. In fact, you’re free to go at any time. But I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because, Lieutenant Arroyo, while I have no intention of letting these men harm you, I cannot say the same is true for him,” Santos explained, jerking his head towards the rear of the kitchen as he spoke.

Gil’s stomach dropped, and for the first time he noticed a third, metal chair, sitting alone in the middle of the kitchen. The rear door opened and two men entered, dragging a struggling Malcolm between them.

Malcolm was dwarfed by two men holding tight to one of his arms, propelling him into the kitchen, easily ignoring his attempts at breaking free from their grips. His upper lip was split, blood already seeping into a cloth gag wedged between his teeth.

Gil began to rise from his seat, his hands curling into tight fists, only to be pushed forcefully back down by a thug who’d been standing behind his chair. He turned to Santos with a snarl as the other man began to speak once more.

“I was worried that you would actually obey my associate’s instructions to come alone, which would have made this negotiation much more difficult. But, as we suspected, it seems you couldn’t resist bringing someone along. And, I have to say, I’m pleased by your choice. Your young friend here will be quite fun to break.”

The two men shoved Malcolm into the empty chair and began tying his wrists down to its arms while he looked wildly around the room, taking in every detail. His eyes finally found Gil’s, and though Gil could see his own fear reflected in Malcolm’s, that damned stubborn determination of his was also shining through. He continued to struggle uselessly, his speech unintelligible from behind the gag. Gil had no doubt that whatever he was saying was more likely to get him into trouble than to help the situation.

Malcolm saw his opportunity when the thugs moved to tie his ankles to the chair and raised his legs in a sharp kick to one of their shoulders, though it accomplished nothing besides earning him a sharp slap across the face.

Gil growled when the man hit Malcolm, but his anger at the slap was nothing compared to the fury that rose in him at what came next.

As soon as they’d finished securing Malcolm to the chair, one of the men stood and punched him square in the jaw, his head jerking to the side with the impact, and Malcolm groaned loudly enough to be heard through his gag.

Gil shot up, fast enough to make it to his feet before strong hands wrapped around his biceps, holding him back from taking out the man who’d struck Malcolm.

“Santos, you bastard! Call them off!” 

Santos gave a wry chuckle. “I don’t think I will. Besides, like I said before, I haven’t told them to do anything. My hands are clean here. There’s only one thing that will make them stop… call your lackeys, and have them deliver the items I’ve requested.”

As Santos was speaking, Malcolm’s abuser delivered another blow to his face, followed up by a sharp jab to the stomach that had Malcolm doubling over, gasping for breath, an effort hampered by the gag. The man fisted a hand in Malcolm’s hair, pulling his head up and forcing Malcolm to sit upright once more while the second thug prepared to strike again. Malcolm’s eyes widened and he began yelling incoherently once more, struggling against the ropes holding him down. The thug gave his head a vicious shake and muttered ‘bad boy’ at Malcolm as if he were a dog.

Gil clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. His teeth ground together as he watched, helpless as Malcolm was struck once more, the profiler’s eyes losing focus as his head rocked with the punch. Malcolm sobbed, a broken, heartbreaking sound and Gil couldn’t take it anymore, feeling tears forming in his own eyes as Malcolm looked at him--something he’d been avoiding so far, and Gil knew he was trying to be strong--despair visible in his wide, frightened eyes.

“Stop, stop!!” Gil cried out, voice cracking, desperate to make the beating end. “I told you- I told you I can’t just make a call like that. I don’t have that authority, no one does. There are going to be questions, it's not as easy as just grabbing evidence and making it disappear!” he said, trying desperately to reason with Santos, and hopefully buy some more time as well. He hated to think of it, but if Malcolm could endure past the hour mark they’d be okay.

Santos had remained impassive up to that point, watching the beating as he sat slouched in his chair, a predatory gleam in his eyes which brightened whenever Malcolm let loose another ragged groan or drawn out moan. He was enjoying the younger man’s suffering, that much was clear. At Gil’s protest he finally turned away from the men in front of him, pursing his lips as he released a disappointed sigh.

“Tut, tut, Lieutenant. Such a flimsy excuse. If you’re determined enough, anything is possible. You’re the boss; tell them what they need to hear to ensure they do what you’re telling them to do. That’s all there is to it.” He waved his hand negligently and Malcolm’s abusers turned back to their work.

The gag in Malcolm’s mouth had soaked up the blood from his split lip, and he had a cut on one cheekbone, as well as another just above the opposite eyebrow that was dripping blood into his swollen eye. He was still leaning forward, his breath a pained wheeze, bent over as much as his captors would allow, though they pulled him upright once more in order to continue their assault.

The thug hit hard and fast, four blows in quick succession before a fifth that was so strong it sent Malcolm toppling backwards in his chair, his back hitting the ground hard and audibly forcing the air from his lungs. Without a moment's hesitation the man delivered a sharp kick to Malcolm's ribs, striking solidly with the tip of his shoe. 

"You fucking piece of shit!" Gil screamed in impotent rage, pulling desperately against the unwavering hold his captors had on his arms, watching as Malcolm's whole body tensed, bowing up from the floor and away from the kick as he moaned, low and long and desperate. After what felt like ages, his chest rose in an attempt to inhale once more. Suddenly, Malcolm began to twist violently, limbs pulling desperately against his restraints and Gil thought for a heart stopping moment that he was having a seizure. Then he saw Malcolm's eyes were wide and panicked and that he was shaking his head back and forth furiously. Gil could hear a choking, gurgling noise escaping from around the gag and realized something else was wrong.

"He's choking. Pick him up, please, he's going to suffocate!" Gil yelled, his eyes desperate as he looked towards Santos. One of the thugs moved to lift the chair but Santos stopped him.

"Wait! Let him choke. Arroyo knows what he has to do to make it stop."

Gil screamed out curses, struggling desperately against his captors, managing to get one arm free, but not for long. He looked back at Malcolm.

Tears were streaming from the younger man’s eyes as his struggles grew increasingly weaker.

“Fine, fine I’ll do it, I’ll do it just please pick him up, get that gag out of his mouth, please,” Gil begged, sagging in his captors grip, desperate to save Malcolm before it was too late.

Santos nodded and his thugs lifted Malcolm’s chair, one of them cutting the gag while the other freed his hands and feet. Malcolm fell to the floor, retching and spitting out gobs of blood and spit before finally gasping for air, choking and wheezing, his breaths ragged and broken. 

“Malcolm, Malcolm thank god. Thank god,” Gil repeated over and over again as he watched Malcolm breath once more.

“Now, Lieutenant Arroyo. You have a phone call to make. Once you do, Malcolm goes free. I’ll even arrange for an ambulance to arrive after we drop him off. Here’s a list of the items I want, and the address where I want them delivered. Once I get them, you go free as well. It's as simple as that.”

Santos handed him a piece of paper and his phone. “On speaker, if you please,” he said, voicing it as a request though Gil knew he had no choice. He glanced at the clock--the hour mark had come and gone, which meant that Dani and JT should be preparing to come get them. He only hoped that contacting them now, with an obviously suspicious request, no matter how well he worded it, wouldn’t stop them from coming. He dialled JT’s number and took a moment to check on Malcolm as the phone rang, reassuring himself that the kid was still breathing. He was--laying on the floor on one side, head pillowed on an outstretched arm, eyes closed. Gil wasn’t sure if he was conscious, but he could see his chest rise and fall, and that was good enough for now.

“Gil, man, there you are. Everything alright?” JT asked as soon as he answered the phone.

“Yeah, great. Look I need you to run an errand for me, all right? I’m going to text you a list of some stuff we picked up at the crime scene, and an address. I need you to meet me there with the items so I can compare them to this new tip we got,” Gil lied, searching for any sort of explanation that would sound remotely reasonable, to Santos if not to JT.

There was a pregnant pause on the other end, just a bit too long to be natural before JT replied. “Sure thing, boss. I’m on it. Want me to text you when I’m on my way?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks JT. See you soon,” Gil replied before ending the call.

He typed out a message, Santos looking over his shoulder as he did so, ensuring he didn’t sneak any warnings or hints into the text. Gil could only hope that JT would know better, that his easy capitulation to the request was a sign that he had no intention of doing any such thing and that they’d continue on with the original plan. And he hoped that, when the cavalry arrived, he and Malcolm wouldn’t be the first casualties.

“There, it’s done. Now let Malcolm go,” Gil demanded as he hit the send button.

***

Malcolm was familiar with fear. He experienced it regularly, on an almost nightly basis, for most of his life. But the primal terror that overtook his mind as he lay on the floor, choking to death on his own blood and spit was worse than any fear he'd experienced before and robbed him of the ability to think about anything but the basic need to breathe.

He was in pain, had been since they'd thrown the first punch. It had grown exponentially with each strike, starting in his face and spreading till it pounded in his skull and ached in his abdomen with every breath. But pain was familiar too, he could endure pain. Then his tormentor reigned down strike after strike in quick succession, rocking his body back against the chair until he struck hard enough to send Malcolm backwards onto the floor. The impact was a shock, knocking the breath from his body and he only just managed to hold his head up enough to keep it from smacking hard against the tile. Stars filled his vision as he gazed up at the white ceiling, but he didn’t even have time to process what had happened before one of the men kicked him viciously in the ribs, forcing out whatever breath he’d had left in his lungs. 

For a moment he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, his body rigid in pain and shock. Finally he recovered enough to suck in a breath, only to find himself choking, his mouth having filled with blood and spit, the gag, already soaked, preventing him from clearing his throat and airway.

He panicked, mindless terror taking over as he struggled to get free, to get the gag loose, trying to scream for help but only choking more. No help came, they left him there and he could feel himself weakening, vision darkening, tears streaming down his face as he felt consciousness slip away.

Something shifted, suddenly, and then his mouth was clear of the gag and he was free, falling forward onto the floor and spitting up blood all over tile in front of him and finally, finally breathing. He heard his name, Gil’s voice and Santos’s and the word free. He nearly sobbed in relief when he realized it was over, unsure of how much more he could take. He drifted in and out of consciousness, brief snatches of conversation reaching his ears before pain and exhaustion sent him under, floating in darkness once more.

He heard his name again--since when did Gil call him Malcolm? He couldn’t focus, coherent thoughts slipping in and out of his mind like water.

“Bring him here,” he heard the man in the chair… Santos?... Order. 

One of the nearby thugs shoved the tip of his shoe into Malcolm’s shoulder, pushing him onto his back before both men lifted him upright with hands hooked under his armpits and half dragged, half carried him across the floor, setting him on his knees in front of Gil and Santos. Malcolm managed to stay upright, catching himself on one hand when he started to topple over before righting himself, head down, one arm wrapped protectively around his midsection. Kneeling was hard, requiring far more concentration than it should, but it kept him from slipping back into the darkness once more.

Gil dropped to his knees in front of him, gently cupping his face in one hand to lift his head, pushing back the hair that had fallen with the other, but even those light touches felt like sandpaper against Malcolm’s abused skin and he winced.

“Hey, Bright, you with me?” Gil asked softly, ducking his head down to meet Malcolm’s eyes.

Gil’s face was an unfocused blur and it took Malcolm several moments to focus, blinking rapidly as he struggled to clear the fog that was clouding his mind.

“Hey, Gil. Having fun yet?” he murmured quietly.

Gil made a choking sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Thought I told you to stay in the car,” he chided gently.

“I did,” Malcolm protested weakly. “They made me get out. They were… waiting… for you to go inside.” he explained, his sentence broken by a wheezing cough as his throat began to burn with the effort of speaking. He leaned to the side slightly, turning his head to spit out more blood and spit.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Gil said softly. “I’m sorry I let it go this far. You’re gonna get out of here though, alright?”

Malcolm nodded weakly, almost smiling till it pulled at the split in his lip, causing him to frown instead, eyes falling closed as he tried to hide his discomfort from Gil.

“This is very touching, but it's time to move things along,” Santos interjected, startling Malcolm who only then realized he’d been watching their interaction the entire time. Santos had an interest in suffering that was disturbing in its intensity, like he was soaking up every detail--each expression and sound--and storing them for later. He’d noticed it at the very start of this whole thing when he was still coherent enough to be observant. Santos had watched Malcolm being beat with an avid pleasure, and Malcolm saw the same look in his eyes now as he studied him and Gil as they knelt before him on the floor.

Malcolm glanced behind Gil as a sudden movement caught his attention, and his eyes grew wide. It was the only warning he could manage before Gil was grabbed from behind and pulled to his feet, then pushed back down into his chair and held there by strong hands on his shoulders and wrists.

“Santos, what is this?” Gil growled out. “I gave you what you wanted, now let. Malcolm. Go.”

“I don’t think I’m going to,” Santos replied, stepping over to where Malcolm knelt, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking back, forcing Malcolm’s head back so far that he was pulled off balance, held up only by Santos’ hold. 

Malcolm cried out, reaching up to grab onto Santos’s arm to relieve some of the pressure on his scalp, the effort of holding himself up straining his already aching abdomen, enough to make him pant with the effort. 

“He’s important to you, isn’t he?” Santos continued, giving Gil a sidelong glance. “He’s not just a colleague or a fellow brother in arms. Almost like family…. Or… lovers, maybe? Are you into younger men, Lieutenant?” Santos suggested with a lewd wink and a laugh.

Gil snarled, jaw visibly clenched with rage, but he didn’t answer, only repeated “let him go.”

“And seperate the two of you, when you’re obviously so close? Now that would be cruel. No, I think we’ll keep dear Malcolm right here. Have some more fun with him. You know, you took someone very close to me when you arrested my brother, so it only seems fair that I do the same.” 

Santos started walking, pulling Malcolm across the floor by his hair. Malcolm cried out in shock and pain, bringing both hands up to grab Santos's wrist and pull himself up to relieve the strain on his scalp, his legs kicking out uselessly as he tried to get his feet under him. 

Gil screamed, angrier than Malcolm had ever seen him before as he fought hard against the men holding him and swore, “Dammit Santos, you said you’d let him go! We had a deal!”

Santos finally released his grip on Malcolm’s hair, throwing him to the floor in front of the chair once more. He curled into the fetal position, instinctively protecting his head and midsection as best he could from whatever was going to come next. Santos just laughed as he walked away, somewhere behind him and out of his line of sight. 

“You know, I don’t usually get my hands dirty with this sort of thing,” Santos mused, and Malcolm heard the squeak of a faucet handle and water running as he continued, “I prefer to watch, you see. But there’s something about you, Malcolm; something special that makes it hard to keep my distance.”

He walked back over to Malcolm and squatted on his haunches in front of him, drying his hands on a towel as he looked Malcolm over, a predatory glint in his eyes that made Malcolm shudder and wrap his arms more tightly around his head when he saw it. Santos sighed, shoulders slumping in resignation as he rose to his feet once more, dropping the towel and walking back towards his chair by the table as he muttered “not this time.” 

Malcolm relaxed slightly, uncurling into a less defensive position as he tried not to think about what Santos could be planning next. It didn’t work--he realized he could still hear water running, and he felt his heart rate accelerate as dread started to build low in his gut. He rolled over with a grunt, searching for the source of the sound, eyes falling on a utility sink along the wall. He looked back at Santos in horror, shaking his head with a whimper as the fresh memories of nearly choking to death came flooding back over him.

Santos’ smile grew wider as he watched the realisation dawning on Malcolm’s face. He turned to Gil and said, “It was so touching to see your concern for your friend earlier when you thought he might be dying. I quite enjoyed it, and I think I’d like to see if we can’t recreate that moment once more.”

The thugs from earlier stepped into Malcolm’s view, and he scrambled to escape as they reached for him, twisting away sharply only to receive a sharp kick to his stomach that had him doubling over and retching. It left him unable to fight and barely able to breathe as they picked him up, dragging him towards the nearly full sink.

“No! No, shit, let me go!” Malcolm gasped out between pained breaths. He twisted in their arms, getting his feet under him and pushing back, trying whatever he could to break free, but nothing worked. 

He could hear Gil yelling behind him, cursing and pleading in equal parts, even offering himself in Malcolm’s place. “You said you’d let him go!” he repeated. “This doesn’t have to go any farther, just let him go!”

Santos held up his hand as Malcolm’s captors positioned him in front of the sink. They’d twisted his arms back, hands holding tight to his shoulders and elbows as they waited for further instruction.

“Release my brother from custody, and I’ll let you both walk away,” Santos offered Gil.

Gil stilled and Malcolm could see the terror on his face as he gave the only answer he could, voice low and desperate. “Santos, I can’t do that, I don’t have the authority.”

“I know,” Santos replied with a small smirk. Then he turned, and nodded to the men holding Malcolm.

One of the men fisted a hand in his hair and forced his head down, while the other held his upper body suspended over the sink and their combined strength was too much for Malcolm to counter. They easily kept him off-balance and defenseless--not their first rodeo, Malcolm guessed. 

He knew what was coming, and tried to keep the panic at bay. He sucked in a breath while he still could, telling himself to relax, trying to slow his heart rate as they forced his head underwater. Just wait, he told himself, you can hold your breath for over a minute, just wait. 

Despite his efforts it only took moments for his survival instincts to kick in. His back started cramping from the awkward position he was being held in and the strain on his shoulders from having his arms pulled back. The pain and the feeling of being held down, forced to stay submerged caused the panic to surge because he needed to breathe and he couldn’t. 

He didn’t want to fight, he tried to stay still and calm; he didn’t want Gil to have to witness his panic. His body jerked once, a purely natural reaction, but he clamped down hard on the impulse to struggle, determined to stay strong. It didn’t work; the burning in his lungs intensified and instinct took over as rational thought gave way to panic. He twisted his head, jerking his shoulders, feet scrambling against the floor as he tried to push up but nothing was working and he couldn’t get free and they were trying to kill him like this, not just torture him and it wasn’t ever going to end… Dark spots clouded his vision as he began to lose consciousness. His panic increased with the realization that passing out meant he’d drown for sure, but his struggles were growing weaker as he started to slip into the darkness.

They pulled him up a second after his body went limp in their grips, the sudden motion enough to wake him up. He gasped for air, choking on water when he inhaled just a little too soon. There was a loud roar in his ears and he was too tired to open his eyes. All he could focus on was breathing--in and out, in and out. As the roar in his ears dulled, the sounds of Gil’s screaming filtered into his awareness, and Malcolm began to shake as helpless anger filled him for what both he and Gil were being forced to endure.

“Again,” Santos ordered, and Malcolm sobbed, the sound broken and pathetic even to his own ears.

They didn’t hesitate, lifting him and forcing his head underwater once more before he could even react, repeating the same process. He started to struggle immediately but with no effect, and though they pulled him up much sooner than the first time it still felt like an eternity. 

And then they did it again.

Malcolm didn’t remember them pulling him out the third time. He woke up to sharp stinging pain spreading across his face and realized dully that he’d been slapped. He was on his knees, held upright by one strong hand still wrapped around his upper arm as his ragged breaths shook his entire frame. He forced his eyes open, struggling to get his bearings, praying it was over because he couldn’t take anymore.

His vision was blurry, but he could see Gil; his face was a mask of helpless agony. He was no longer screaming, just staring desperately back at Malcolm, slumped in defeat with tears flowing down his cheeks, looking just as broken as Malcolm felt. 

“Again,” Santos ordered, and Malcolm crumbled.

“No-o,” he moaned. “Please no more, please,” he whispered over and over again as they pulled him up again.

Suddenly, the lights went out, plunging them into an immediate darkness as complete silence fell over the room. The men holding Malcolm dropped him as they reached for the guns on their hips, but they were too slow. Bright pinpoints of light suddenly filled the room as the doors burst open, breaking through the silence as a dozen cops moved into the room from both sides, yelling at Santos and his men to ‘drop it’ and ‘get down.’ One of the men standing over Malcolm reached for him, pulling his gun, ready to use Malcolm as his human shield. He was shot dead as soon as his weapon cleared its holster.

It only took moments and happened too fast for Malcolm to comprehend in his broken state, he simply lay on the floor, drawing one arm up to shield his head in an attempt to shield himself from the confusion. 

He felt hands on his face and flinched away, crying out and swatting them away weakly.

“Malcolm, it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Gil,” he heard, and finally realized that Gil had made it to his side despite the chaos filling the room. He was crouched next to him, warm fingers pressed against the pulse point in his neck while he brushed sodden hair back from Malcolm’s face. “Hang in there, kid, alright? You’re safe now. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he soothed, repeating the words over and over. 

Malcolm frowned in confusion, eyes glancing wildly around the room as his sluggish brain tried to catch up with reality. “Wha-?”

Gil shushed him, sitting next to him and lifting Malcolm’s head gently into his lap as he continued to reassure him that everything was okay. Someone approached them and began to speak quietly to Gil. It took Malcolm a moment to recognize Dani’s soft voice, filled with concern as she knelt down next to them. “Ambulance is 5 minutes out, Bright. Just hang in there, okay?” she urged.

Malcolm nodded, eyes slipping closed. He felt himself drifting off once more but he didn’t have the energy to fight it, secure in the knowledge that he was safe--their team had come for them, and Gil was watching over him, and that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think. I'm a sucker for comments and I'll love you forever.


End file.
